


A Whisper on the Wind (Great Tree Moon)

by MxMearcstapa



Series: Lunar Haruspex: A Blue Lions Story [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Background Blue Lions - Freeform, Battle, Combat, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Female My Unit | Byleth, Fighting, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Game Dialogue, Gen, Magic, Mentioned Blue Lions Students (Fire Emblem), Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Mock battle, My Unit | Byleth Has Emotions, My Unit | Byleth Is Doing Their Best, My Unit | Byleth is bad with names, Names, Nicknames, Other, POV Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, POV My Unit | Byleth, Retelling, Silent Sothis, Slow Burn, and she'll get them eventually, bonding on the battlefield, minor blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25903825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MxMearcstapa/pseuds/MxMearcstapa
Summary: Now, one long week and a half later, the mock battle had finally arrived. Now, it was time for them to show the other houses, and the monastery at large, what they were capable of. He knew his body hurt, but between the tingle of the salve and his nerves, Dimitri could hardly feel anything.He wanted to show his classmates their suffering had not been in vain.He wanted to prove to the professor that she had not made a mistake in choosing to teach the Blue Lion house.He wanted to win.With a smile belying his nerves, Dimitri turned to the professor. “It is about time for the battle to begin. Our victory depends on your leadership. Do not let us down.”The professor stared back hard, impassive. For several long moments, she silently held his gaze.“Stay focused,” she said finally, and turned to face the field.In which the Blue Lions take to the field and face the other two houses in Garreg Mach's traditional start-of-year mock battle, Byleth takes a hit meant for Dimitri, and Dimitri decides the new professor might like them after all.Part 3 of Lunar Haruspex, a Blue Lions Story
Relationships: Blue Lions Students & My Unit | Byleth, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Blue Lions Students, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & My Unit | Byleth, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Jeralt Reus Eisner & My Unit | Byleth
Series: Lunar Haruspex: A Blue Lions Story [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584496
Comments: 14
Kudos: 73





	A Whisper on the Wind (Great Tree Moon)

**Author's Note:**

> CW: mild blood, violence, combat? Hubert is an asshole. :)

The final day of the Great Tree Moon was overcast. Byleth squinted up at the sky, searching for a sign of rain. The clouds were not quite so dark and near as to fall immediately, but it wasn’t out of the question either. She frowned. She should have considered this. So far, Byleth had been training her students almost exclusively in the arena, where the ground was much more level. Out here in a field on the outskirts of Garreg Mach, the earth was soft and lumpy. If it rained, the terrain would be slick and muddy. With a spike of irritation, Byleth decided they would have to start training outside after this, and in varying weather conditions.

  
“Professor!” A voice broke her concentration. She turned to face her house’s leader, tall and blond, as he strode towards her. The Lance. His name still escaped her. Maybe it started with a D? She gave up trying to recall. By the boyish grin on his face and the light in his eyes, Byleth suspected he might burst from excitement. “Have you decided who will be representing our class in the mock battle yet?”

  
Until mere minutes ago, Byleth had not realized she would not be able to take her entire class into this fight. The field was not large enough to do so, for certain, but then again, she had not known where the battle would be held.

  
There were, she was learning with increasing frustration, quite a lot of things she didn’t know.

  
Byleth inspected The Lance with a cool eye. He was far more enthusiastic about this than seemed reasonable. This battle was a practice. A demonstration of their skills. If they were victorious, it would be proof perhaps that she was doing something correctly. But that was only if.

  
Byleth inhaled deeply. She supposed she preferred his energy over apathy. In fact, his dedication to their training was one of the few things she was finding she could rely on. Though it had only been a short amount of time since she started teaching, already Byleth could distinguish his devotion from the others. It was more than that he simply wanted something from her. He trusted her. Believed in her.

  
Perhaps saving your life inspired that kind of response in people, but Byleth was wary. In her experience, people did not usually respond to her favorably at all, much less with such zeal. She had saved nearly as many lives as she had ended, and no one had ever dedicated themselves to her. Though, she supposed, no one except her father had ever had to spend this much time with her before. In any case, The Lance was useful. He was making her teaching position significantly easier—his willingness to follow her made his classmates more willing in turn.

  
“Who would you choose?” she asked him. His eyes widened.

  
“Such an important decision can’t be left to me, Professor.”

  
Byleth snorted. So much for reliability.

  
She looked at the rest of her students gathered a short distance away and felt a tingle of something in the back of her neck. It seemed simple to her: after a week and a half, he knew their names, and she did not. She did not even remember _his_ name. Whoever they ended up fighting with, she could devise a plan, but Byleth knew emphatically that she did not want to go over there and invite confusion. Disappointment. Mistrust.

  
More than she had so far, at least.

  
She crossed her arms. “Aren’t you Crown Prince?”

  
“Well, yes.” The Lance rubbed the back of his neck and averted his gaze.

  
“Making important decisions should be standard for you,” she said.

  
“I suppose when you put it that way…” He trailed off, fist pressed to his mouth, surveying his classmates. Byleth inhaled through her nose. He had to choose. He had to.

  
“The final say will be mine,” she said.

  
The Lance was silent a moment, his eyes darting between the bodies of his classmates. Byleth thought his silence was refusal until he suddenly spoke up.

  
“Dedue. Some of our opponents are very strong, and he excels at shutting down physical attacks. And…” The Lance pursed his lips. “Ingrid. Edelgard is certain to take Hubert with her, and Ingrid has a good magical resistance, as you’ve seen in our training. And Mercedes. She is the most skilled in healing magic. It wouldn’t hurt to have her at our backs.”

  
“Good.” Byleth said, trying to recall which three those were in particular. He had named two girls, if she was remembering correctly, so who did that leave out? Kind Smile was the one who seemed most proficient in white magic. She had to be one of them. But the other…Byleth shook her head. Regardless, his logic was sound, and it seemed as well-rounded a team to her as any. “Have them join us.”

  
He looked at her in disbelief. “I beg your pardon, Professor, but weren’t you only seeking my input as part of a greater whole?”

  
“Yes, and I agree with you. Have them join us.”

  
“If…that is your command.”

  
Her brow twitched, and she nodded. With a bow, The Lance left her and hesitantly approached the other students. Byleth watched from a distance as he informed them of her choices. Shield and Lady shared a look of mutual contempt—did the house leader realize there was friction between them, or had he chosen them on purpose to work it out?—but walked over with Kind Smile. She had been right about that one, at least. Their names might have eluded her, but their abilities she knew, and The Lance had been right. Shield was just that, and Lady Knight dealt well with magic. Byleth pulled the training weapons off the rack and distributed them: an axe to Shield, a bow and quiver to Kind Smile, and a sword and a lance both to Lady and the house leader. With a nod of her head, she gestured to each of them.

  
“You’re the best we’ve got with an axe. Front line, guarding. You want to know why a bow—magic isn’t infinite. Stay behind cover, including human. You two are better with lances than swords, but you can’t always keep that distance. Questions?”

  
There were none.

  
“Good. Show them your training.”

* * *

Dimitri was sore.

  
Before classes started, he had considered himself fairly physically fit. The last week and a half of training with the new professor shredded that notion entirely. She had not sparred with him, nor any of the other students for that matter, since that initial instance, but she pushed them hard—Dimitri even harder when she noticed he wasn’t as winded as his classmates. He hurt in places he didn’t know he _could_ hurt. Every step was a reminder of a different ache. Every motion with a weapon made his muscles protest. Every night, he fell into bed, exhausted, and occasionally, thankfully, dreamless.

  
And in spite of that, or maybe even because of it, he had never felt more alive.

  
He knew his classmates did not feel the same—except for Felix, who was so enthusiastic that he spoke more than Dimitri had heard him say in years, though not directly _to_ him of course—but the majority of them were less than excited. Poor Annette had cried, she was so tired. With Ashe’s knowledge of plants and Professor Manuela’s assistance, they created a salve to ease the aches of training; the only drawback was that the entire class smelled constantly of peppermint. If their own professor noticed, she hadn’t said anything, nor had she asked how they were doing. She did seem to know when to stop, at the very least, and they were grateful for that much.

  
Now, one long week and a half later, the mock battle had finally arrived. Now, it was time for them to show the other houses, and the monastery at large, what they were capable of. He knew his body hurt, but between the tingle of the salve and his nerves, Dimitri could hardly feel anything.

  
He wanted to show his classmates their suffering had not been in vain.

  
He wanted to prove to the professor that she had not made a mistake in choosing to teach the Blue Lion house.

  
He wanted to win.

  
With a smile belying his nerves, Dimitri turned to the professor. “It is about time for the battle to begin. Our victory depends on your leadership. Do not let us down.”

  
The professor stared back _hard_ , impassive. For several long moments, she silently held his gaze.

  
“Stay focused,” she said finally, and turned to face the field. Dimitri felt himself go red to the ears. He had meant it to be encouraging, but he supposed it had come across as a platitude. Of course she knew they were depending on her. Of course she would not let them down.

  
“Of course,” he mumbled aloud, readying his weapon.

  
A long, low blast sounded from a horn.

  
“Begin!” Captain Jeralt boomed. Dimitri tensed, then relaxed with a chuckle. He shouldn’t have been surprised to hear the same words from him as from their professor—he was her father, after all. And…surely an impartial judge for this battle? Dimitri shook his head. He needed to focus, just as the professor had said.

  
He heard her voice from behind him. “Advance slowly.”

  
They took tentative steps forward. At first, they could see very little: to the right, a large copse of trees blocked their view of the Black Eagles. To the left, more trees, and further back, a barricade and a large rock pile hid the Golden Deer. How would they even begin to fight over there? Claude had picked a strategic location indeed. Their own side was rather open and offered little in the way of defense.

  
On the right, a flash and a sizzle shot past them as a bolt of lightning went wide. Collectively, they jumped. The professor held out her hand, her message clear: hold position. For several tense moments, they waited, poised to strike.

  
From behind the trees in the direction of the bolt, a woman’s voice could be heard.

  
“Shoot! I’ll get them next time for sure.”

  
Slightly further out, a placation from Edelgard. The Black Eagles were near, then. Dimitri turned to the professor for guidance and saw that she was looking towards Ingrid.

  
No, not looking. Staring. Her lip trembled.

  
A thought struck him.

  
_Does…does she not know Ingrid’s name?_

  
During their initial battle against the bandits, she had referred to him, Claude, and Edelgard each by the weapon they were wielding. They had not yet given their names then, but…

  
_Does she know any of our names?_

  
He supposed it had not been a long time since she had started teaching them…

  
_Does she know_ my _name?_

  
…but at the same time, they were spending almost the entirety of every day together.

  
_Do I even know hers?_

  
A name was nothing worth getting worked up over. A great many people struggled with names. And she had to learn so many new ones so quickly, whereas many of his classmates, he had known for years already. All the students had been there together a week before her even. It was understandable, right?

  
…was that why she had agreed with his choices for the mock battle?

  
_Focus!_

  
She knew what she was doing, even if she didn’t know their names—of that, Dimitri was certain. How else could she have armed them so? And it was clear the professor knew who she wanted to move—hence the staring. Perhaps, Dimitri decided, he could take some time to help her learn their names later. For now, it was more prudent to aid her directly.

  
“Ingrid,” he whispered, and her head spun toward him, braid whipping with the force. The professor’s head turned, too. Ingrid looked between him and the trees with growing urgency. Dimitri inclined his head towards the professor, and Ingrid nodded.

  
“Into the trees,” came the professor’s hushed instructions. “Surprise her. Watch the branches.”

  
Ingrid nodded again and slipped into the thicket, weaving between the trunks of trees. The professor gave him a searching look but said nothing. Not even a thank you. Not that Dimitri expected it, really, but he had to admit he was a little surprised that she had nothing at all to say. Had he actually helped her? Or had he made it worse?

  
A _clack_ and a grunt from their left pulled their attention back to the action. Dedue held his axe in both hands, bracing against the Gloucester boy’s assault with a lance. The professor did not miss a beat.

  
“Back the girls up,” she said, running towards Dedue. She slid into his assailant’s legs, and the Gloucester boy tumbled down with an astonished yelp. In a moment, she was back up, a quick assessment of the situation satisfying her, and then she was hassling the archer that had approached—Dimitri thought he recalled the boy was a merchant’s son in the Alliance? He forced himself to turn away.

  
Not far off, the air crackled with magic, followed by a frustrated groan. Dimitri made eye contact with Mercedes. She nodded twice, and they approached with caution, weapons drawn. Dimitri hoped Ingrid was all right. He supposed the dissatisfied responses from her attacker were reason enough to believe she was doing fine. Still, he wished he had an idea of Ingrid’s position.

  
From the edge of the copse, a bolt of lightning whizzed at him. At the last moment, he dodged, the edge of his bangs singed from the nearness. Across from him, a woman in a cap smiled and cocked her head. Dorothea, wasn’t it? She looked harried, her hair tangled and cap askew. She pushed the dark strands out of her face.

  
“Come closer, won’t you? It’s rude to keep a lady waiting.” Nervously, she eyed the trees—was Ingrid still in them, then?—and spoke more loudly, “Two on one is hardly fair, you know!”

  
Lance in hand, Dimitri rushed her. Dorothea gasped and fired another bolt towards him. His body reacted before his mind did, swinging the lance upwards to block the shot. He closed his eyes for a moment against the brightness and felt the lance burning in his hands. With a curse, he dropped it and drew his sword. The smug look on Dorothea’s face fell as he closed in on her.

  
She smiled again, but her eyes were desperate. “You wouldn’t hit a girl, would you, Your Highness?”

  
“I won’t have to if you yield,” Dimitri said, taking a step forward. Alarmed, Dorothea stepped back. Behind her, the branches of the trees rustled.

  
“I would!” Ingrid said as she leapt from between the trees. With a grunt and a graceful twist of her lance, she knocked Dorothea off her feet.

  
Dorothea released another sound of frustration. “I yield.”

  
Dimitri bent and offered her his free hand. Dorothea arched an eyebrow, the look in her eyes almost disdainful. She blew her bangs out of her face. “Spare me the theatrics.”

  
“Theatrics?” Dimitri retracted his hand only slightly. “I was just trying to help.”

  
Dorothea pushed herself up with an eye roll. “Right, _Your Highness._ If you think this counts us out, then you’ve got another thing coming!”

  
She limped off the battlefield towards Jeralt. Dimitri sighed. Every interaction with the Black Eagles so far had been similarly vexing. Next to him, Ingrid shook her head.

  
“What was her problem?”

  
“Defeat can be souring, I suppose. That was well done, Ingrid.”

  
Ingrid beamed. “Thank you, Your Highn— _ugh_.”

  
Her shoulders slumped as she braced against something unseen. Then came the buzzing. Ingrid screamed, covered in dozens of stinging insects. In a panic, she threw her lance and dove back into the thicket for cover, Mercedes on her heels. Dimitri sheathed his sword and grabbed the lance from the ground. If more magic was at play, he’d want the reach, and Ingrid still had her sword—providing she returned. But Mercedes was with her. She would be fine.

  
_I can’t think about that now._

  
Close by, Hubert’s distinct and sinister laugh could be heard. Too close. Dimitri advanced slowly in the direction of the blast, ears straining for an additional clue on Hubert’s whereabouts.

  
A figure strolled into view from around the trees, pointing a lance at him. The son of Duke Aegir. Dimitri recalled him being formidable in what little training he had seen. If Hubert was around here still, Dimitri didn’t think he could match them both. Where was the professor? Dedue?

  
“Congratulating each other already?” Ferdinand asked him, stepping forward. Dimitri circled away from the trees, never taking his eyes off his opponent. “Far too soon, I should say. This is where your success ends!”

  
Ferdinand charged, and Dimitri ran to meet him. He was quick, but he was not as quick as the professor, and Dimitri found himself parrying the hits with relative ease. An opening presented itself, and he swung—heard the sound of something hurtling towards them?—and ducked as a blast of dark purple magic flew overhead.

  
“Hubert!” Ferdinand sounded affronted. “You almost hit me!”

  
“Perhaps you should be more aware of your surroundings.”

  
Dimitri took the chance to strike Ferdinand across the shins. He had to end this quickly. One hit from magic like that would be crippling. He pivoted, orienting himself so that Ferdinand was between him and Hubert. Hubert smirked, seemingly immediately aware of Dimitri’s intentions, and then Dimitri lost sight of him as Ferdinand’s assault began anew. His movements were simple enough to predict, all bluster and bravado, as though the victory mattered less to him than looking good doing it. Dimitri weathered the storm until it passed and then drove Ferdinand back towards Hubert. He had the upper hand, he _knew_ he’d be victorious, and then Hubert said:

  
“Looks like that man from Duscur has been badly wounded—I wonder if he’ll be all right.”

  
He knew it was a trap, but Dimitri turned anyway, because he _had to know_ Dedue was okay.

  
He saw nothing. No Dedue, no injured persons at all, just the empty field.

  
_Where is everyone?_

  
Ferdinand’s lance hit him squarely in the ribs, and he fell back, body stinging. He had been struck in the same spot the professor had hit him during their spar. Dimitri knew it hadn’t fully healed, but he hadn’t expected another hit to hurt so much. Vision hazy with pain, he only barely blocked Ferdinand’s blows. Far too near, Hubert cackled, features violet in the glow of another blast charging. Even through the haze, the cruelty of his smile was unmistakable.

  
“How do you expect to win if you’re so easily distracted?”

  
_Forgive me, everyone._

  
This was going to hurt.

  
“Allow me to demonstrate,” the professor’s voice rang out. She crashed into Hubert, elbow connecting with his nose. Red spilled down his face, illuminated briefly in the glow of dark magic as he fired the shot into the professor’s chest. Hubert fell, and she fell across from him on her knees, coughing and shuddering, enveloped in a murky purple cloud.

  
_“Professor!”_

  
Anger replaced pain. With a new fury, he attacked Ferdinand. Startled, the Aegir boy backed up—straight into Dedue. Dedue caught him fast and held the haft of his axe against Ferdinand’s throat.

  
“Yield.”

  
With a deep sigh and a great reluctance, Ferdinand did.

  
Dimitri stomped over to Hubert and pointed the tip of his lance at Hubert’s throat. The man was in no position to fight back, but without an official concession, Dimitri did not trust him to leave quietly.

  
“Yield,” he demanded.

  
Hubert spat the blood out of his mouth and fixed Dimitri with a glare. “No.”

  
Dimitri spun his lance and hit Hubert upside the head with the pole. Hubert reeled and laughed.

  
“ _Yield_ ,” Dimitri repeated with a fierceness that surprised him.

  
Hubert sneered. “My, what a brute.”

  
The rubber blunt of a training arrow hit Hubert in the head, and he slumped over. Mercedes lowered her bow as she approached.

  
“What a rude man. Are you all right, Dimitri?”

  
“I’m fine—the professor—”

  
“I saw. Cover me?”

  
“Of course.”

  
They hurried over to her. Bent over in the field on her hands and knees, the professor gasped for air. Ingrid had a worried expression and a hand against her back. Near them, Dedue stood and scanned the area for the next threat. He glanced at the pair on the ground in concern.

  
“My—pack—” the professor choked. Ingrid fumbled beneath the professor’s overcoat, revealing a small satchel attached to her belt. She undid the buckle, and the pack’s contents spilled out: glass vials, dried plants, a few rings. Dimitri wondered how everything had fit inside of it to begin with—there seemed far more objects than room for them. The professor grabbed a small, clear vial and dumped the liquid within past her lips. As she cleared her throat, Mercedes knelt next to her.

  
“Can you breathe, Professor?”

  
The professor nodded, taking a deep, steady breath. The Blue Lions sighed in relief.

  
“I’m glad to hear that.” Mercedes said, her smile gentle. “Let’s get you patched up.”

  
The professor nodded and gathered her possessions before stuffing them back inside the pack. Dimitri regarded her quietly, shame eating holes in him. It was his weakness that caused her such a grievous injury. Had he been focused, as she had instructed from the beginning, she might have avoided taking such a blow. That she looked less pale with each breath did little to ease his conscience.

  
Physically, he was in no better state. Pain ebbed at his vision. Standing became too much to bear; as calmly as he could, Dimitri crouched next to them. The professor stared back at him as Mercedes healed her. In a manner that seemed vaguely unnatural—and Dimitri chided himself for thinking such a terrible thing about the person that had saved him _twice_ now—she cocked her head and narrowed her eyes.

  
“You’re hurt as well.”

  
Sharply, Mercedes looked up at him. Her smile was still placid, but the twitch in her eye suggested a disturbance in her depths. “Oh, is that so?”

  
Dimitri blushed. “I—yes. Ferdinand hit my injured rib—but our professor’s situation took precedence.”

  
“That’s true,” Mercedes said, massaging her palms. She stretched her fingers, and they lit again with white magic. “But you _did_ say you were fine. Roll up your shirt, please.”

  
Dimitri complied, studying the professor again as the white magic soothed the bulk of his pain. It seemed he had not been wrong in his earlier assessment—their new professor was perhaps more astute than he gave her credit for. And more than that: she was willing to throw herself in front of him, without hesitation, to shield him from a telling blow. That she couldn’t remember their names was a paltry thing in comparison.

  
He gave her an embarrassed smile. “That’s twice now that you’ve saved me, Professor.”

  
“An injury concealed is akin to an enemy dagger,” she replied without warmth. Dimitri’s smile dropped. He turned scarlet. “If you’re hurt, I need to know. Any of you. We fail or succeed as a team.”

  
She pushed herself up on one knee and then reached a hand out to him. Dimitri blinked, startled. He was certain this was the first time she had offered to help him up. That her tone was neutral and her words harsh (even if true) mattered less to him than what that hand told him.

  
She was warming up to them after all.

  
Smile renewed, Dimitri took her hand and let her pull him up. Her skin was surprisingly cool. Dimitri swore for a moment that he saw something change in her eyes, but when he looked more closely, it was gone. A trick of the light perhaps. The professor nodded to them and pointed her sword out towards the rest of the field.

  
“Let’s show what’s left of the other houses why we’re still standing.”

* * *

The shift was not large, but it was significant. Byleth could tell by the frequency of their glances, the way they stood nearer to her, their willingness to follow her commands. Sometime between when the battle had started and when she had been injured, she had earned a modicum of her students’ trust. Though she and her house leader were not in the best condition, the newfound teamwork more than made up the slack. They could see the win, and they were ready to seize it.

  
Briefly, Byleth wondered if this was how her father felt leading their mercenary band.

  
They approached the starting point of the rival house positioned beyond the trees, and the opposing house leader met them. She had a powerful presence, her red cape fluttering in the breeze, strands of white hair obscuring her face. She hefted her axe and issued The Lance a challenge. Eagerly, he accepted. Byleth hovered nearby, ready to respond if his injury flared up. Her very presence seemed to unnerve the rival house leader, if the intensity of the girl’s swings was any measure. Byleth seized the opportunity and pushed in, giving The Lance the edge he needed to prove victorious. With her direction, Lady Knight, Kind Smile, and Stoic Shield surrounded the opposing house’s professor, and then there was only one house left to fight.

  
The house leader with the bow actually laughed when they surrounded him, like he was pleased to find the odds against him. Despite that, he was quick and clever—even if he talked too much. The girl with him was much less inclined to action but formidable when roused. But they were not a match for her class’s combined effort. Her students made short work of the yellow-clad house and their teacher.

  
The horn sounded, and her father proclaimed their victory.

  
Her students cheered, and those on the sidelines rushed the field with a clamor. Byleth found the noise alarming, even as a strange warmth trickled through her. Sword still in hand, she stood and blinked uncertainly. The only word she could ascribe to their mood was “joyful,” and it puzzled her. She was used to battles ending with begrudging acceptance. There was not joy to be found in winning, in the job, in killing. Byleth had never been happy to kill.

  
Had she ever been happy to do anything?

  
She sheathed her sword and quit the field in search of her father. He greeted her with a grin as wide as a broadsword and put a hand on her shoulder.

  
“Nice job, kid! Looks like you’re teaching the brats well.” He leaned in closely to examine her. “Are you okay? You took a nasty hit from that Eagle boy.”

  
Byleth shrugged. “I’m okay.”

  
“That’s my girl, tough as steel.” Her father beamed. Byleth looked down, unable to meet his gaze. Had he ever praised her so before? She could not recall. “Saved the Prince’s hide, in any case. I suspect he’ll be grateful. Try not to accumulate _too_ many royal favors.”

  
Byleth glared at him, realized he was joking, and then glared harder. Her father laughed with such force that he had to wipe a tear from his eye.

  
“Well, I’ve got to get back to work, kid,” he said. Disappointment unfurled damply in her. “Sorry I can’t stay longer, but I’m glad I got to see you in action. You’re doing well.”

  
“I’ll come with you,” Byleth said. Her father scratched his temple.

  
“What about your brats?” he asked.

  
Byleth pointed at the monastery looming nearby. It was a short walk away. “They know how to get back.”

  
Her father gave her a look she could not dissect and then chuckled weakly. “I suppose they do.”

  
Byleth got the distinct impression that she had said the wrong thing. But why? Didn’t her father want to spend time with her? They had been apart so much. Last they had been able to talk, he had appeared so worried for her. What had changed?

  
“Have I done something wrong?” she asked him. Her father smiled, but his eyes looked sad.

  
“No, kid. You’re golden.” He ruffled her hair, and the sadness left his expression. Byleth combed her hair back into place with her fingers. “Let’s head back.”

  
The walk back was silent, but that was nothing unusual. They parted in the great hall, her father vanishing up a flight of stairs, and then Byleth was alone. At the very least, he had left her close enough to the dining hall to peer into it. Her stomach rumbled loudly. After such a battle, she was ravenous.

  
Before she could enter the dining hall, a voice stopped her.

  
“Professor! I’ve been looking for you.”

  
Byleth stopped to face the sound. Her house leader was behind her again, approaching with a smile and a spring in his step. It had to be tiring to constantly maintain that much energy, she mused. Her stomach growled in agreement. The rest of her students were on his heels. They stopped in front of her and shared an excited look. Byleth looked at them with no small suspicion.

  
“I was hoping we could share a meal together,” her house leader said. “It could serve as both a victory celebration and a post-battle analysis. What do you think?”

  
For a moment, Byleth did not respond, wariness rising in her.

  
“I’m invited?”

  
“Of course. Why wouldn’t you be?”

  
He seemed genuinely surprised that she would ask such a thing.

  
“Come now, Professor! We can’t very well celebrate without the key to our victory present,” the Flirty Redhead said with a wink.

  
Zephyr bounced, her pigtails punctuating her words. “He’s right! He really is! We were only able to win because we had your help, Professor!”

  
And they had not even been in the battle.

  
They started talking enthusiastically over each other, and Byleth found it difficult to focus. She had never been invited to anything before. Even several of the mercenaries who had been with her father’s band for years had never asked her to sit with them around the fire. In their defense, she had never wanted to. But what might it have been like to be part of that? Now, standing in front of her, several people she had known only a short time were insistent that she join them. Something about the invitation made her feel warm, light, like she had on the field after their victory.

  
“Professor. I’m sorry to intrude, but…you don’t look too happy for someone who just won.”

  
_So brazen,_ she thought, something flaring inside of her. She blinked away the unpleasant sensation and realized that only she and the house leader remained in the hall. Had the rest of the class gone on ahead while she was lost in thought? It was unlike Byleth to lose her attention so; distraction meant death on the battlefield. The noise level was unlikely to decrease for the duration of her time at the monastery. Byleth made a note to start spending time in more crowded areas, to train her focus.

  
She looked directly into his eyes. Blue as a cold winter morning. His flinch was subtle but unmistakable.

  
_Do I unnerve him?_ she wondered.

  
To his credit, he did not look away. He watched her, waiting for her response. What did it matter if she looked happy? And what was she meant to say to that? For the second time today, Byleth found she could not maintain eye contact. She looked to the floor.

  
“Is that so…”

  
“Hm. Well, I understand how hard it can be to accept joy sometimes. I’m sorry for prying,” he said. She looked up to find he had finally averted his eyes.

  
Byleth felt a sting in her chest. She did not like when strangers could read her, but with as much time as they had spent together, Byleth supposed he no longer counted as a stranger. And, unlike when the Archbishop read her expressions, The Lance seemed to want to help her. So far, he had been helpful, actually—he could tell on the field that she didn’t know Lady Knight’s name…which meant he probably knew she didn’t know any of their names. Which was unfortunate.

  
Yet he had not chided or mocked her for it. He had simply accepted it without question, aided her, and moved on.

  
Byleth wished with a sudden fervor that she could remember his name.

  
The Lance tilted his head and regarded her with something akin to gentleness. “I know we only just met, so this may be difficult for you, but…I’d love nothing more than to share our happiness with you. Joy can be so fleeting, after all. We’re all in this together…so I hope you will consent.”

  
Consent to…sharing joy? It struck her as an odd thing to say. That he felt joy was hard to accept hit closer than he knew and was stranger still—how could someone with such a ready smile find joy hard to hold? Byleth was reminded of their first interaction at the monastery, before she had chosen a house to teach. Then, he had smiled to hide his pain, just as he had on the battlefield. Worry dripped through her, a slow pool forming.

  
She did not know what to say. She wanted him to smile again.

  
“I’m sure the rest of the class feels the very same,” he said, bright smile emerging once more. “Well…come along, Professor. Let’s enjoy the fruits of our labor!”

  
When he offered her his arm, Byleth took it without hesitation.

**Author's Note:**

> FINALLY the "Great Tree-logy" ends! I did not intend to spend so much time in Great Tree Moon ahaha. I am thinking the pace will be a little faster going forward, but the story will go as it does. And the romance kind of starts! I have a lot of fun things planned for the future, so I hope you'll stick around! 
> 
> Title inspiration is part "Fódlan Winds," part Byleth finding a voice. I played a lot of that and Vetrom's FE3H remixes (check 'em out on YouTube! https://rb.gy/jzbnc3) as well as Panic at the Disco's "Let's Kill Tonight." Someday, I might make a public playlist. #extraaf
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please leave a comment! If you didn't like it, the back button is at the top of the page. :P Thank you again!


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